


Honeymoon in Antiva City

by minwrathous



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: M/M, Separation, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 23:47:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13624035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minwrathous/pseuds/minwrathous
Summary: A few murders. A kidnapping. Maybe even a wedding...When Zevran Arainai leaves the Warden’s side to visit his former home, it isn’t meant to be for good. But a bitter grudge and the promise of gold will change everything.





	Honeymoon in Antiva City

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be adding tags as I update, so please keep an eye on those if there's any kind of content you're worried about.

Zevran took a seat near the tavern’s fire, eager to use its warm light to read the letter that was burning a hole in one of his belt’s pouches. It had been some time since he’d received a letter from his contacts, and he was eager to read it.

He glanced around to check if anybody was paying him any mind. No. And why would they? He was just a modest-looking elf with brown hair and a scar running down the left side of his face. _Braska_ , that fucking scar was still making him want to scratch, even after two days of wearing it. It was a wonder he hadn’t been driven mad. At least the hair dye wasn’t bothering his scalp this time.

Zevran steeled his resolve and pulled his letter out in lieu of scratching at his face.

‘My Favorite Bird’ was written in precise script across the front. He trailed a finger across the words and smiled to himself, then flipped it around to break the seal. He knew that it was very likely somebody had read the letter before him - perhaps it had even been a few somebodies. There had been a good attempt made to reseal the wax, but it wasn’t done well enough to fool him.

It did not matter to him though. Let them try to puzzle from the letter what they would. The lack of privacy was just part of the cost of corresponding across such a long distance. Zevran and his penpal simply went without names and kept things vague.

He broke through the simple seal of blue wax - no sign of any official griffons or other heraldry - and unfolded the piece of parchment. He then settled back with a content sigh and began to read.

 

> _Dearest Bird,_
> 
> _I must start by thanking you for your last letter. While I am not quite sure that I am able to bend half as well as your words would lead one to believe, I thank you for the vote of confidence. We will have to do a bit of research on the subject in the future._
> 
> _Things have grown blissfully quiet here; our unwelcome guests have not returned. We are still working on repairing our home after their rather rude invasion attempt. Our neighbors have been very forthcoming in assisting us as we recover. I believe they are grateful for the help we gave them in their own time of need. I remain cautiously optimistic that we can continue this positive relationship._
> 
> _Oh yes. The hole in my wall has finally been patched. While it remains a mystery how they were able to so perfectly target my quarters, I am glad that it is not so drafty. Though, I suppose the cold wasn’t all that bad. It made for a very nice excuse to find someone to keep my bed warm. There is one particular elf that has been very sorely missed in this aspect, but I will do my best to soldier on._
> 
> _Did I mention that the horsemaster has very strong hands? They’re dark and calloused and look quite fetching against the skin of my thigh. Perhaps I’ll introduce you to them (and their owner) when you return. Well, once I’m done keeping you all to myself._
> 
> _I hope your work is going well and that you are advancing among whatever ranks are left. I know how talented you are, so I’m sure you’re making quick work of your competition. I regret that your work has kept you away for so long, but as always, I understand._
> 
> _So, until next I hear from you, I will have to rely on my own thoughts. Thankfully they can be almost as naughty as your words. I’ll think about your mouth, hot and wet and wanting at my neck. Your hands twining through my hair and pulling just enough to make me gasp. Your cock hard and twitching ever so slightly as I run my tongue along its length._
> 
> _I could go on, Bird, but I’m afraid I’ve run out of time and parchment - but not thoughts. Just know that I have many, many thoughts. And when we are both together again, I will personally share them all with you._
> 
> _Be well._
> 
> _Ever yours,_
> 
> _N._

 

Zevran smiled to himself as he looked back over the letter, fingers tracing over the familiar handwriting. He felt a dull ache settle in his chest, and maybe a little bit of warmth gathering below his belt.

It had been far too long since he’d last seen his lover.

In their time apart, his Warden had greatly expanded on his titles. When last Zevran had seen him, he’d been ‘merely’ Nymm Surana, Hero of Ferelden and advisor to the newly crowned King Alistair. Now he was Warden-Commander of Ferelden and de-facto Arl of Amaranthine.

It was all very impressive.

All Zevran could claim was the elimination of a few cells of Antivan crows. Oh, and a Guildmaster. All right, so maybe Zevran had been busy as well. His feats may have paled in comparison to ending a Darkspawn civil war and assuming control of an arling, but they were something.

Zevran licked his lips and carefully re-folded the letter. He slipped the letter back into his pouch and leaned forward. His hands moved across the rough wood of the table as he stretched. How much longer was he going to stay here in Antiva City?

He’d returned to his homeland months ago to attend to some unfinished business, armed with a list, a bag of poison, and a lot of knives.

And while he’d happily introduced his knives and poisons to a number of people on his list, he didn’t feel as _good_ as he would have hoped. Killing off his former employers had been satisfying at first, but it eventually grew tedious. More often, they felt like hollow victories.

Why, only a few days before, he’d slit the throat of the Grandmaster of House Arainai. Zevran should have celebrated by drowning himself in booze and women. Maybe a few oiled-up men. But instead, he’d retired to his rented room and gone to bed. Alone.

When they’d parted ways, Zevran and Nymm had both agreed that sex with other people was allowed. Encouraged, even. Why deprive one another of pleasure while they they were apart?

Keeping that in mind, Zevran had thoroughly enjoyed his return to Antiva City earlier on. He’d even written some particularly steamy letters documenting his exploits. But now he found himself going through a dry spell. Embarrassing as it was, Zevran couldn’t help it. There was something he needed that a nameless bed partner couldn’t provide. But what was it? What was the one thing that even the famed whorehouses of Antiva City couldn’t provide?

A familiar kiss, soft and teasing and full of promises.

The thought struck him all of the sudden and made him pause mid-stretch - he was lonely. The great Zevran, former Crow and master assassin of House Arainai, had grown _lonely_. It was a simple enough conclusion; how had it taken him so long to come to it?

Just as quickly as his realization struck him, rationalization followed. He sat back in his chair and tapped his fingers idly on the table.

There was once a time when he would have fought this feeling tooth and claw. He would have denied his own vulnerability and shrugged it off with a laugh. Buried it and moved on.

But that insincere part of himself had been tempered during the Blight. He could admit that much. Zevran was _allowed t_ o feel this loneliness.

He could admit that he missed Nymm Surana.

Perhaps it was time, he thought, to call the mission off. There was no shame in it. He had accomplished much in his time here in Antiva. He’d sent his message to the Crows, left it signed with the blood of one of their Guildmasters. While not all of the names on his list were crossed off, there was no reason he couldn’t take a break. The Crows would think twice before pursuing him this time.

And if trouble arose in the future, Zevran could always return with more knives, more poisons. And perhaps even a certain elf, provided he could be convinced to take the time off.

And wouldn’t that be fun?

The more he thought about it, the more sense it began to make.

That settled it. He would book passage back to Ferelden tomorrow. He could take a ship to Denerim, or maybe even to Amaranthine itself. Zevran could already imagine the look of surprise on Surana’s face when Zevran showed up unannounced. Perhaps he would be laid out on the Warden’s bed, wearing nothing but a smile.

Warmed by the thought, Zevran grinned to himself. Tomorrow, then. Tomorrow he would make his way back to his lover.

Tonight, he would let himself celebrate.


End file.
